"What are you in the mood for?"
"Oh, I don't know … five or six servings of you?" He nuzzles my neck, his breath hot and humid against my skin.
Heat pools between my legs, and I dig my fingers into his hair. "That sounds like a fabulous idea."
As I let him carry me to bed, I can't help but feel that I'm missing something. But when he bends down and slants his mouth over mine, I can no longer imagine why it should matter.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Annabelle
I can't believe it-I'm actually looking forward to going to work! And doubly so because I have fashionable clothes to wear-although I make sure not to put on anything ostentatious-and then when I'm done, I'll have a hot husband to come home to.
Life is good.
The first day is going to be spent mostly on orientation and filling out paperwork. I run into Gavin on my way in, who nods at me with a warm smile and walks into an elevator trailed by an impeccably dressed tall and curvy redhead.
When I reach my cubicle, I see a huge bouquet of brilliant red roses. The sight of them and the heady scent bring a smile to my lips. I don't have to read the card to know who they came from.
Enjoy your first day.
– E
I bring the scripted card to my face to hide my widening grin.
"Who's that from?" the assistant in the next cubicle, Jean Bennet, asks with a smile.
"My husband."
"Ooh. Lucky you."
I flush. And that night I show him how much I appreciate the flowers, which made me the envy of every woman on the floor.
"I'm going to send you a bouquet every day if this is what I get," Elliot says when he can breathe again.
I giggle. "You're so bad."
"I simply want to remind you of your despondent husband, waiting with forlorn yet loyal patience for you to come home … "
Eliot's melodramatic delivery-contrasted with the lascivious look on his face-makes me laugh. I kiss him on the mouth. "I think the word you're looking for is 'lecherous,' not 'despondent.'"
"I can't help it that you're hot … and you make me hot." He pulls me down for a deeper kiss before seducing me silly, as though he hasn't just come hard enough to break a window pane.
The second day, Elliot sends me a bouquet of huge pink orchids. I flush with pleasure, but don't get much time to admire the stunning blossoms. Jana is waiting for me in her office.
She's a fair boss. She doesn't look at me like I'm anything special and speaks to me in a cool, no-nonsense tone that conveys both confidence and discretion. I love her for it because I need normalcy, and I don't want my new coworkers to treat me differently just because I have an account with the firm.
Despite her brisk manners, she's also patient. She shows me exactly how she wants her filing done and how I should write messages on her behalf when required. I learn that it's a waste of time to include greetings and other niceties in business communication.
"The main point only. Nobody has time to read 'how are you' or 'hope you're having a good day.' That's what company socials are for."
The previous admin has been gone for over a week now, so I spend my day organizing Jana's schedule and making sure she has coffee-black, no sugar-every two hours on the dot. Apparently a regular dose of caffeine is vital.
"I heard about the happy hour," Jana says at a quarter till four on Friday. "You can go now, but I'm afraid I can't join you. I have a prior engagement. But we'll do lunch on Monday. Keep the calendar clear."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Just call me Jana," she says with a slight smile. "I'm not that old."
I take my purse and go to a bar two blocks from the office. It's a swanky place with gleaming wood and lots of expensive-looking liquor displayed on the shelves. The place smells faintly of leather and oak and the remnants of hundreds of opened bottles of wine.
Traci is already seated at the counter. As usual, she's in an almost-too-racy-for-the-office outfit. I start to wonder how many V-neck tops and pushup bras she owns.
"You're early," I say.
"You're right on time. I'm so glad Jana let you go. She has a reputation. Total workaholic."
"She is kind of intense. But I like her. Seems very nice."
Traci grins. "Only you would say that." She raises a forefinger to flag one of the bartenders. "What are you in the mood for?"
I hesitate. She's expecting me to drink because I never told her about what happened at the party and did my best to pretend everything was fine. I was too ashamed to tell anyone, even Traci. When we were at parties, I'd nurse a Coke or OJ while pretending that it was spiked with rum or vodka, because you couldn't not drink at those events in Lincoln City and still be considered cool. Now I can't decide if I should come clean and tell her I never touch alcohol or get a glass of wine and pretend to nurse it until it's time to go home.